Guilty Names at the Apgha

            I heard men shouting up by the gates. Then the words grew closer and closer. "Jordeh Maqheba," one man said. Then a woman called "Yhari Edlar." There were many people calling out names at once, and I could not hear all of them. There was only one pattern I noticed; a person only shouted one name once, and was silent thereafter.

            After some consideration, I decided that these were names of people who had been killed by the Kapbaji. Whose name would I say? Of course, Ansidrion was the obvious choice, but what about Sirlay? He had been a martyr of the revolution. He had been partially vindicated by successes in Yafia, yes, but this was his fight too, and he had given his life for it. I wondered how many other men around me had more than one name to say.

            After careful observation, I discovered that men cried their selected name, and then tapped a different man on the shoulder with each of their hands. Being touched upon your shoulder indicated that it was your time to speak your martyr's name. In this way, the number of names uttered doubled every moment. I braced myself for my touch.

            Then, suddenly, I heard a familiar name. "Bires Fidra." I remembered Fidra well; not only did he have a name similar to mine, but he had lived in the house that adjoined to ours until a year ago. Had he been killed as well? I glanced over toward the direction from which I had heard the name. There, looking as healthy and proud as ever, stood Bires Fidra. Then, in the exact same moment as my eyes took hold of him, I felt the man next to me touch my shoulder.

            I paused a moment and took a breath. Then I said "Federan Poniubires." I shouted my name as loudly as I could. Let all the crowds hear it, let Yhako hear it, let the Kapbaji in the Apgha hear it—I had returned to the streets and I was not afraid. Yes, this must have been the intention. Men shouted their names at the conservatives within the Apgha, as a way to say "I am not afraid." At that moment it seemed a more powerful phrase than yahram alu. It captured the same message—a declaration of personal enlightenment via the reform. But it did more:  it proclaimed to those in power that they could no longer rely on their subjects’ fear in order to govern.

            After I said my name, I grabbed two shoulders. Then, without waiting for the expected response, I began to walk through the crowds, directly toward the Apgha. I had spent enough time in the back, enough time using others to shield me. A few men glared at me, as no one else seemed to be pushing forward. But I was not to be put off. Let now be the moment that I am part of the action, rather than merely the one who stands back and observes, questions and records.

            It was not until I came to within about thirty feet of the gates of the building that I noticed that something different was happening here. These men in the front had already uttered their own names, and now they began to press forward. The iron gates were closed firmly against them, so they grabbed hold and began shaking them wildly. These gates were perhaps a hundred years old or more, and they made a terribly loud, clanging sound when this happened. They all began to shout things at once, and their many messages were lost in the clamor, and they used their strength against one another. They had demonstrated such discipline only a few minutes ago, but now they had lost it when the time of action came.

            "Men of Ilepya," I called out to them. "Let you speak one message together! Let you use your force at once, in but one direction!" But the many sounds that they made all made my voice inaudible.

            What had happened? Had nothing by now replaced the Ilepyan Brotherhood? In whose care was the planning of these events now? These were wild men, in desperate need of direction. I watched as a man used both the iron rods and the arms and shoulders of men around him to scramble up over the gates. He seemed to be motioning for others to climb, to follow him over, but none of them did. I could not see him once beyond the gates, and I did not witness what became of him. I only judged that his idea did not meet positive results, as no one did as he had done.

            Perhaps there were a Kapbaji militia waiting on the other side of that gate. If we crossed one by one, we were doomed to our slaughter. But I knew--as I am sure many of my fellows did as well--that if we could all enter through the gates at once, we would overwhelm whatever was within. I pushed as close to the gate as I could and listened closely to a hearty-looking man on my left. "Death to the Kapbaji!" He cried. A man on my right was saying "blood finds blood!" No, none of these would do. Then I heard a man chanting "yahram alu." Yes, this was good enough, and what was more, it was easy. I began to chant along with him, being careful that my tone and speed matched his, in order that our voices might best carry. He noticed this and became louder as well. We continued like this for a minute, with no result.

            I did not become frustrated or lose patience. Instead, I altered my tactic. Continuing to chant, I tapped another man and motioned for him to join in. Then I found a fourth to say it, and he brought with him a few more friends. Now our voices began to dominate, and one by one I heard other voices join ours.  Soon the chant was one, and I knew that whoever was inside of the Apgha could hear our message, rather than our anger.  This was the priority.  Then, as our voices became one, our force became one.  As if by design, we began to pull at once, concentrating all of our strength.  At once, the gate was torn from its hinges.  We collectively paused a moment to marvel at what we had done, but then we threw it forward, and it fell with such great force that it briefly bounced up again, before landing flat upon the stones behind it.

            Now there was a great rush, as men scrambled past one another to enter the Apgha.  I briefly considered charging forward, but then I hatched a different plan, and took a few steps within the gate and out of the way.  I watched as dozens of men flowed in toward the door.  They brought it down easily and then began to push inside of the building.  They continued on and on, and it seemed as if the whole world was entering through the broken-down gate, past the battered door and into the Apgha at that moment.  “It is like the ocean,” I found myself saying aloud.  A drop of water can do little on its own, but when united with hundreds of other drops, it becomes a wave, and has an irresistible force.  The men were acting as one body now, and none of them appeared to be in control of his own motions, but instead each one gave into the will of the crowd.  I felt, at that moment, that this great ocean was bringing ashore our salvation; the thing we needed most in the world.  But what else did it bring?  For although water is infinitely powerful and useful, it is also infinitely dangerous.  The men would overthrow the Kapbaji within, but there was no telling what violence, destruction or oppression that this overwhelming crowd might bring about.

            For now, I could not be concerned with such things, for I had a different task ahead of me.  I am sure it seemed trivial to those around, but to me it was the most important of all.  “Let us take down the other gate, as well,” I called out.  The crowds either did not hear me or did not care.  They were focused on the Apgha, the glorious moment within and perhaps the looting to follow.  But I needed these gates gone.  I tried to stir a few men toward my cause, as I had done with their chanting, but it was of no avail.  No one was willing to halt the wave long enough to listen to the words of a sickly, underfed young stranger.

            But then I looked down at my arms.  They were stronger than ever!  I was underfed, yes, but over the course of two hours, I had ceased to be sickly.  How easily I had forgotten!  It is the streets that regenerate the men of Ilepya!  It is in the roads, speaking against evil and oppression, that good Hihaytheans find their rest!  I had not slept but for a few hours during the course of my alliance with P’att, for we spent our days organizing our parebhurs and evatarrs, and our nights protesting amongst the other citizens.  What is there more rejuvenating than finding common cause with your fellow man and speaking out for what is right?  Yes, on this day, I had become healthier with every step I took, stronger with every man I encouraged, sharper with every yahram alu I had uttered.  How could I doubt my strength?